On Tuesday, two police officers were shot and killed in Santa Cruz. One of them was the father of an officer who came to talk to Marley's preschool class last week for community helpers day. He was quiet and sweet with the kids. It feels awful to think about what he's going through right now.
After the Newtown shootings, I anxiously hovered around my kids, asking them if they were worried or scared, if kids at school were talking about what happened, if they had any questions? They mostly shrugged, unsure why something that had happened so far away was supposed to be scary to them.
This time, though, they asked lots of questions. Were there any regular people around when the officers were shot? Did anyone see their bodies lying in the street afterward? Was the person who shot them still in our town? I could tell that the curiosity was masking real nervousness. If the people who protect us are not safe, then how are we safe?
They explained to me about the lockdown drills they have at school. They told me the secret code sentence taught to the children so that they'll know if it's really safe to come out of hiding or not. They told me about the time at their old school when they had an unannounced drill, and real police officers came around and banged on the doors to test whether or not the teachers would open them.
I am so sad for my children. Sad that they have to grow up like this, and sad that it feels normal to them. There's no time at all in my life for me to "do something", but I am going to find it anyway. This is wrong, wrong, wrong.
